“Love?”
by NatyGry
Summary: The war is over, but the world is thoroughly shaken in its wake. Harry is looking for signs that things will be good again wherever he can. Then Ron, suddenly, does something that shifts things and transforms the way they will be from now on.


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**_"Love?"_**

**By**

**NatyGry**

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The days that followed The Battle of Hogwarts – or The Final Battle, as it also came to be known – weren't easy for anyone in the Wizarding world. In fact, they might have been just as hard as the War Days or The Battle itself for some people – if not harder. The chill the Dementors left in their wake may have dissipated, but another kind of cold sorrow that would seep deep to your bones was left lingering in the air in its place. Loss, destruction and pain were found scattered everywhere you would look. This was the time for funerals, mourning and counting your losses.

Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Man Who Won – knew, deep down, that the picking up the pieces, rebuilding and counting your blessings part would come at some point. Nonetheless it was still hard envisioning it at the time; though he did look for signs of it everywhere, at anytime and from everyone that crossed his way. However, at Tonks and Lupin's funeral, as Andromeda held Teddy protectively to her – the son of her only child, not even a month old yet and already an orphan like Harry himself –, the woman's stricken face was the perfect picture of despair and so unlike her sister's in that moment, it was all he could see. At Fred's funeral, though the pain was shared – split nine-ways among the Weasley clan –, it was in no way weaker or smaller because of it. And George… _Oh_! _George_! How could he ever be whole again, Harry could not fathom, without his other half.

The weeks that followed that first one, at The Burrow, to say they were subdued would be a great understatement. They were downright depressing, as could be expected. But Harry would rather be nowhere else in the world, as could be expected. It was an odd thing having The Burrow so full, but with none of the boisterousness and joy that usually accompanied having the whole family under its crooked roof. And they were all there, seeking solace on each other and reassurance that they were indeed there and had made it out of it. So, still, he looked for that glimmer of hope, that sparkle of rebuilding, the glimpse of a brighter, better future, the light they had fought so hard for, on every Weasley face.

Well, not _every_ Weasley face. It wasn't the _whole_ family. They weren't _all_ there.

There _was_ someone missing. They weren't _whole_ anymore. And they never would be again.

That was what always hovered over them all so loudly now, in a deafening silence.

Hermione was there too, persistently. Quietly, yet diligently, about, ensuring everything in the house was in order – that beds were made, food was cooked and eaten, laundry was washed and so on. She seemed uncertain, at first, if it was even her place to be there at a time like this, but then she and Fleur took it upon themselves the task of making sure that the intricate machinery of The Burrow kept working in full mode, even though its main gear was unable to contribute at the moment due to the grief of losing one of her beloved children.

In little time, once Hermione was sure Fleur could cope with the house and family on her own for a while and Ron had talked to Harry – making it clear he couldn't possibly let her go by herself, therefore he needed for his best mate to look after the family while he was gone –, they took off for Australia and her parents. All Ministry related issues about the matter were cleared up with aid from – who would have thought? – Percy, who went out of his way to make sure there were no hitches either for Hermione and Ron on their journey or for her about the immeasurable amount of rules and laws she broke in the process of protecting her parents.

Hermione _and_ Ron. Yes, of course. As it seemed to Harry that they were always close together lately, since The Battle. It wasn't an overt display or anything. It was in the little things. Like in the way they always sat beside each other for meals; the way they appeared to gravitate toward one another when in the same room; the way he gave her his seat on the armchair and sat instead by her legs – on the floor – as he and Harry, or one of his family members, played chess while she read in the evenings; or the way he ever-so-gently nudged her awake afterwards – when she would inevitably fall asleep, exhausted from the day – and whisper for her to go to bed. Nevertheless, Harry didn't think anyone else had noticed these little things – they had so much on their minds – and he _was_ the one prone to watching these days. Looking for signs.

Apparently, from what he was told, their time in Australia wasn't easy. It wasn't that finding her parents was complicated, or that undoing the spells and Memory Charms she had placed on them was all the more complex, but that, after doing so, the whole emotional aspect was even more difficult and draining. The Grangers couldn't believe their only daughter had done something as severe as that to them – sending them overseas and modifying their memories; making them abandon and forget about their lives and even about her – and were still more appalled when they were told the reasons why Hermione had gone to such extremes and the things which she had been through or involved with for the past years of her life. It was decided, afterwards and to Hermione's relief, that the Grangers would come back to their lives in their home country, but they would only do so after firstly tying up all of the loose ends of their lives in Australia on their own, as Wendell and Monica Wilkins, so they could have time to think and adjust to all the new information they had been bombarded with all of a sudden and all the changes happening to them.

Hermione came back from the journey tired and worn, though satisfied that her goal had been accomplished: her parents were safe and would soon return home and to their old lives, just as she had planned from the very beginning. Without that burden of worries looming over her, she easily fell back into her routine at The Burrow; adding to that, working alongside Percy on making sure that everything was ready for her parents' return, while constantly keeping them informed of all of her proceedings either by Floo or owl. A few weeks later, when they finally arrived from Australia – leaving the Wilkins on the plane and entering the country as Grangers –, Hermione and Ron helped them moving and settling in their old home and she also moved back in with them, though she would still come by to The Burrow to spend the day – while her parents were at work – and some evenings too.

It was on one of those evenings that it happened. Harry had watched the whole scene unfurl and he could picture it perfectly in his mind's eye. There it was: the sign. The one he had been looking for.

They were all gathered in the sitting room – even though it was July, the fire provided a welcome excuse for them to get together. Mr Weasley was sitting by the window, the paper forgotten at his side, conversing with Percy; Bill and Fleur were huddled together on the cushy loveseat, at the far corner of the room; George was crouched near the fireplace, seemingly lost in thought, quietly watching the flames dance; Harry was currently on the way of getting beaten at chess by his – back-together-again – girlfriend; and Hermione was fighting off sleep by reading a big tome, curled up in an overstuffed armchair close by, when Ron walked into the room, bringing in with him a gush of cold air.

He quickly scanned the room's occupants, his eyes landing on the back of the brunette's head. As he walked straight to her, she shivered, so – putting his big hands on her almost bare shoulders – he leaned down toward the back of her seat and asked, in a low voice, "You cold, Mione?"

"I –" she stopped as she looked up from her book and noticed how close he was.

"You've got gooseflesh," said he, looking down with a frown at where his hands were on her skin.

"I just felt chilly, all of a sudden," explained Hermione, but her cheeks got a bit pink as she said it.

"Here, let me get this for you," offered Ron, already reaching for an old quilt folded on a nearby chair and draping it over Hermione's legs. "There, that's better," he told her, crouching by her side.

"Thank you, Ron," said Hermione, looking both pleased and a little bashful.

"I think Charlie has finally Apparated outside. Mum's waiting, standing in the kitchen with the door wide open, that's why the cold breeze came in," clarified Ron.

"Oh," was all Hermione responded, nodding.

"You look tired," sighed Ron while running his big hands through his already messy flaming red hair in obvious frustration.

If Harry was being honest, Ron did look quite tired himself; between his family, the post-war efforts chaos, helping Hermione, George and the shop, he had a lot on his plate. Not that he was complaining; he seemed to thrive on being useful these days.

"You can't keep at it, you know, Mione?" went on Ron, talking to her in a hushed voice, so only Harry and Ginny – who were so close – were within hearing distance. "Taking care of _your_ family, _my_ family, _both_ houses, helping in the post-war efforts _and_ studying like mad to go back to Hogwarts. It's too much! You're wearing yourself thin. There'll be nothing left of you to go back to school once it reopens!"

"You think I'm too thin?" asked Hermione, looking down at herself, dressed in a simple, light, cotton summer dress.

"_What_?! No!" exclaimed Ron hurriedly, apparently startled at the whiplashing change of subject. "That's not the _point_! And it's not what I meant, either. You look great, Hermione. Lovely." To Harry's surprise he didn't even flush as he said this; instead he appeared to ponder Hermione for a bit and then he added, "See? _This_ is what I mean!" Ron made a gesture that probably was meant to encompass the whole scene, but it was simultaneously confusing and explained nothing at all.

"'This' what?" inquired Hermione, probably just as confused as Harry was.

"Here I am, meddling in your life and you didn't even argue with me, didn't tell me to keep my big nose out of your business, that you are not taking on too much and that you can handle it," enumerated Ron, seemingly either crestfallen or affronted that she wouldn't be goaded into an argument and all together making perfectly valid points that went against his own.

"I don't _want_ to argue with you, Ron," answered Hermione simply, with a rueful smile. "I know you mean well. Yes, I _have_ been taking on a lot of responsibilities, but it _is_ nothing I can't handle. Especially since I _do_ have help; there's Fleur, Ginny, your mum, my mum and half the Wizarding world cooperating on the things I've been doing. Yes, I'm tired, but so is everyone else, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I love being a part of it all."

"It's like third year all over again. No one can do all of that, Mione!" mumbled Ron.

"You seem to be doing just fine," countered Hermione shrewdly and Ron looked at her sharply, his mouth open as if waiting for a reply to come. "What you do is not any different, Ron," she told him softly, glancing at George.

Ron had been doing so much for his older brother, be it keeping him company, helping him with the shop, or putting him in line whenever it was needed. Sometimes George was a full time job, on top of everything else, and Ron's efforts were invaluable to the Weasleys, especially since, most of the time, he was the only one who could get through to his brother.

"Please, don't deny me this, Ron," pleaded Hermione and Harry thought he had hardly ever seen her do that with their best mate. "I want this, I want to be a part of it all, I want to do all of the things I can to help anyone I can."

_So_ _it_ _is_ _like_ _S.P.E.W._ _all_ _over_ _again,_ _then_, Harry thought as Hermione stared intently at Ron for a moment – apparently saying something with her eyes – and placing her hand lightly on top of Ron's before continuing, barely above a whisper, "If I need your help, I'll ask for it. Promise."

Ron swallowed; he seemed to ponder this for a minute, his face drawn and serious. Then he started to nod slowly and exhaled gradually through his long nose. "Alright," said Ron and Hermione finally released the breath she had also been holding in, as a slow smile spread on her lips.

Harry didn't quite know what had just happened, he didn't know for sure what the meaning of this was, but it occurred to him that it was huge. His two best friends – who couldn't agree on anything and got into rows so huge and loud they had Gryffindors cowering to leave the common room to get away from them – had just had a serious discussion and peacefully come to an understanding right before his bewildered eyes.

At that same moment, Mrs Weasley came into the sitting room, followed by her second eldest son, looking every bit aggravated.

"Now, Arthur, Charlie here finally got home and he was just telling me how he got held up by the people from the Department of Magical Transport. Honestly, who do they think they are, keeping people from getting home at this hour! And after everything that's happened and all of the things this family has done for the Wizarding comunit…" prattled on Mrs Weasley.

And just like that, Ron got up and stretched to his full height, effectively interrupting his mother by announcing, "Well, then, now that _everyone_ is home, safe and sound, I'm going to make some tea, so we can _relax_ a bit. Does anyone want a cuppa?" asked Ron to the room at large, although looking a bit pointedly at his mother. There were nods here and there, so he called the attention of the ones who hadn't responded yet, "Bill, Fleur? Tea?"

"Oh, yes. Zat would be lovely, Ron," answered his beautiful sister-in-law and her husband nodded in agreement.

"George?" inquired Ron, to which his brother barely moved his head up and down. Then Ron turned to face Hermione and asked, in the most casual and natural – if not deliberate, Harry would wonder in retrospect – voice in the world, "Love?"

It was just one word; one simple, four letter word. However, it changed everything. Something shifted and it wasn't just that suddenly every eye in the room was fixed on the youngest Weasley son. No, it was something more, something deeper, something Harry couldn't quite put his finger on just yet. So he watched, the way he had found himself doing more and more often these past months.

Hermione was nodding, but she had her glassy eyes glued to the book on her lap and bits of her bushy hair had fallen to cover her face, which was – and Harry doubted there was anyone in the room who _wouldn't_ notice this – quite red. Mrs Weasley had her hand over her heart and tears on her eyes, but Harry could tell these were different than the ones which made presence so often of late. He expected her to start gushing anytime soon. Mr Weasley had on a proud and pleased smile that made him look relaxed and years younger. It was the same smile which, at the moment, made his eldest son's handsome face be seen beyond his scars, even as he lifted a surprised eyebrow at his littlest brother – the one even Bill had to admit wasn't little anymore. His wife, though, held no surprise whatsoever in her perfect fair features, but – instead – a wise, knowing smile, as if she saw what this moment meant and all of the things which would unfold because of it.

Still by the door, Charlie looked at Ron with an amused expression; it reminded Harry of Hagrid, proudly entertained by baby Norbert – Norberta? – as it first started breathing fire. It was as if he saw Ron as this great, wild, full of potential creature which he had watched hatch from its egg and was just now finally taking its first clumsy steps while he got to seat back and enjoy the show, front row. In contrast, Percy appeared to be astonished and intrigued – after so much he had missed –, while simultaneously thankful to be witness and part of this moment, to see his youngest brother's bravery; becoming a man in yet another way.

And then there was George. He was staring intently at his little brother. It was difficult to read him since The Battle. Since Fred. The face that once only conveyed infectious laughter and witted mockery nowadays was perpetually blank and hard as stone. It was even more difficult figuring what he would say or do; his reactions and moods were so volatile. There was so much of him missing, in a way nothing that came from him seemed complete anymore. Therefore, it was with baited breath that Harry watched as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I say it's 'bout time, ickle Ronniekins," teased George loudly, offering Ron that lively wicked grin of his, as every head turned and looked on.

"Aye, aye, George!" came an exclamation from beside Harry as Ginny's soft brown eyes sparkled in a radiant, if not mischievous, smile while she punched up the air as if in celebration.

Then, at last, Harry looked at his best mate standing there at the centre of it all, the cause of all the attention. He was exactly the same boy on the knight, who would come through every time; who would sacrifice himself for his friends or the greater good – whichever was needed at the time –, even knowing what all it could mean. He was the same generous boy who would share whatever little he had, even his family and home, with the Orphaned One every summer. Yet, he had come such a long way from the freckled, tall, thin and gangling kid with dirt on his long nose that Harry had met that first day, in this new magical Wizarding world, on the Hogwarts Express. He had come a long way from the fumbling, insecure teenager who couldn't gather up the courage to ask a girl – especially not the _right_ girl – properly to a dance.

Ron seemed calm, completely unfazed and unembarrassed either by the attention or the teasing. In fact, he stood tall and there wasn't a hint of red on his ears or his freckled face. He was simply beaming down at Hermione – whom was now timidly smiling back at him –, with an honest, happy and full sort of grin that shone on his whole face. It was the same grin he got whenever he felt victorious; when he got what he wanted, like when he was named Prefect, or won the Quidditch Cup or… or…

_Oh_! Harry realized.

Or at the world's end, in the Room of Requirement, inside a near-to-crumbling Hogwarts Castle, right in the middle of _the_ fierce War Battle between good and evil, with great, dirty, deadly poisonous Basilisk fangs scattered all around him.

_Oh_!

Ron was absolutely delighted with himself. He was contented and triumphant again. Yes, that single word had indeed shifted something more. It meant something deeper and Ron had known perfectly well all along that it would be so. It was a statement, a claim, a declaration and a promise all summed up in four letters. It probably was no coincidence either that his whole family happened to be around right the moment he said it. How devious of him.

That's when it clicked for Harry, gazing at Ron and seeing that uncontainable smile.

Victory and joy.

Hope and future.

Blessing and rebuilding.

Love.

_Well,_ _yes._ _It_ _is_ _a_ _sign._ _There's_ _still_ _hope_ _for_ _us_ _yet._

**The End**

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**_Author's_**** _Note_**: This is the very first Harry Potter fanfic I'm posting and English isn't my first language, though I tried to remain faithful to J.K.'s style. I would absolutely love to hear what you think of it in any aspect.

This is a simple Ron/Hermione story and it doesn't have much plot.

However, I have pictured mostly all of what happens after Deathly Hallows (minus epilogue) leading to this point and is told here in passing – such as life at The Burrow, the Australia journey, so on – and much more, up to more than a year after the events of this fanfic.

I'm considering writing a lot of it as a series of short tales like this one, that can be enjoyed separately.

So, if you'd like, do check back, subscribe or check out my profile for my LJ (NatyGry).

Love, NatyGry.

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